Lord Master composed this poem for Mr. Ngo Van Nguyen suspected Him of obstructing his attempt to be an in-law with Mr. Ky Gioi in Bac Lieu.
As I sit ruminating on the stories of old,
Saints don’t know how to satisfy the folk.
They’ve strived to be debt-free,
But the debts still pop up unexpectedly.
Looking up the worldly, I almost cry,
Half-human, half-ghost, they’re dead blind.
I envy a burst of laughter,
But I can’t bring myself to chide the dullard.
They don’t grasp the compassion law,
Labeling the Monk as a society bore.
The boat of Insight in the high seas,
It doesn’t mind if storms break it to pieces.
The commoners by nature are laic,
What matters ahead, they can’t predict.
Romances are filled with a lot of corpses,
The lessons of old are familiar to most.
Even the Saints beware reprimands,
Let alone Buddhism’s three large strands (2a).
From shamen(3a) to the adherent,
Their matchmakings are abhorrent.
First, they commit worldly karmas,
Second, they reduce couples to traumas
My mind is so pure. Oh! my folks,
Why don’t you examine if gossips are false?
A chess game is facing a final raid,
Sooner or later, its fate will be laid.
I express all my poignancy,
Hope they understand complex causality.
If someone risks being a sinner,
They can"t shun the godly debt collector.
On my part, I follow the Holy’s steps,
Whatever the gossip is, I will accept.
By compassion, I have to incur bitterness,
Despite a lack of reward or harshness.
Few hear the stringed sonances,
By a renouncer of worldly vengeances.
By three refuges, five precepts I’ve kept,
I turn empty-minded and purified adept.
In fact, through calamities at lengths,
I’ve physically undergone tough changes.
I had left my native village far behind,
Let alone others, my family was out of mind.
I resolve to attend the shrine for vowing,
Together with Buddhas, to bless the living.
The sacred bell strikes resonate,
For those in dreams to contemplate.
Worldly events are illusionary, after all,
Hedonism often kills illustrious people.
By the holy bell, early quit the desire river,
Lest it drags you into the sea of dukkha(4a).
Though you’ve achieved fame and gain,
You shall sooner or later let it go in the end.
Yellowing leaves will fall, my people!
Per one thousand years, there is a time,
On Investiture (5a), the Supreme Being decide.
Those who have performed flawlessly,
Will be rewarded by Buddhas, Saints, Fairies.
It will not be like the current situation,
Constants and Five Virtues (1a) in confusion.
Though I have incurred so much pain,
I shall accomplish ‘compassion’ for humans.
The other day I’ll have met my manly goal,
My repute will spread like fragrance.
Now I haven’t yet achieved my aspiration,
Inopportune, I still keep my determination.
Throughout history, heroes and heroines,
Never groaned, tasting bile, lying on thorns.
A manly vow across all horizons,
Saintly as they are, they roam four oceans.
They have shaken thugs off the nation,
The wholesome faith starts in South Region.
The music of Ho Liu Gong Xang,
It sends a night message to all sentients.
The full moon is in mid-Autumn brighter,
It whispers as if a twig teased the bird.
One sees in that person his integrity,
Expresses their wish to find out who he is.
One nervously wakes up from Nam Kha (6a),
For what use their fame and gain are.
The Autumn sky is sad and gloomy,
Entangled with disasters as Heaven privy.
Alas! So distraught are the worldling,
I don’t care for my well-being.
Half vaguely, half clearly, prettily,
Tonight’s moon seems to peep at me.
Chuckling, I talk to Hang-Nga,
Please tell me where the “San-Ha”(5a) are.
Living in a miraculous transient realm,
I hardly fly high in a fleshen organism.
Talent tends to face its shock,
The irky Creator devises such a paradox.
Rivalry is no longer in my bosom,
But merit cultivation to wait for blossom.
Strange fragrance covers West and East,
North and South Lac-Hong race is elated.
My affection is geared toward all places,
May my thanks go to the devotees.
Bac Lieu, 29 June 1942 (Lunar)
(Composed by Lord Master Hoa Hao)
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